


think I'm addicted to your light

by sosobriquet



Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), F/M, First Time, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Penis In Vagina Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21802312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sosobriquet/pseuds/sosobriquet
Summary: Aziraphale sees Crowley's halo. Sort of.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571086
Comments: 14
Kudos: 215
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy, Top Aziraphale Recs





	think I'm addicted to your light

**Author's Note:**

> prompt for Day 1 of the 12 Days of Blasphemy: halo

At the bench in St. James Park, Aziraphale deviates from their carefully laid plans. 

When Crowley offers up his borrowed hand, Aziraphale reaches for him, turning the body that feels so much more like a marionette than his own.

Giddy with their success and newfound freedom, he wraps his hand around Crowley's, so tight he feels his own ring biting into the heel of this hand that does not truly belong to him. 

He doesn't stop there; he pulls Crowley, still wearing his own round face, in for a kiss.

"Take me _home_ , Crowley," Aziraphale murmurs against soft lips frozen in shock. "Not to the bookshop," he adds before Crowley can stammer his way to asking. By the next breath, they're sitting at the foot of Crowley's bed, and Crowley's laughing with Aziraphale's voice, finally letting slip some of his careful control.

"Too fast for you?" he asks, face wide open with hope and a poorly concealed flicker of fear.

Aziraphale's answer is another kiss, and a gentle brush of his essence, his _soul_. Crowley understands; opening his mouth to Aziraphale and himself too, so that they can flow back into their own bodies.

If it had been almost too intimate to bear before, practice had done nothing to lessen the effect. 

They share breath, and their souls, too, for a moment as they pass through and into one another; heady and electric.

Back in their proper bodies, they break apart with twin gasps, but their hands remain clasped as they shiver through the aftershocks.

"Could we do that again?" Aziraphale asks tentatively, this time with his own voice.

Crowley presses closer, and closer still. Until Aziraphale falls back onto his elbows. 

"We can do anything you like, angel, just please-" Crowley chokes on everything he's wanted and feared to say for millennia, until even the broken sounds of it all get stuck in his throat.

Aziraphale quiets Crowley with a gentle touch and starts wiggling his way up the bed. He props himself up on the mound of pillows and reaches for Crowley, but does not touch him, yet. “Come here,” he says softly. 

Crowley comes to him, pressing his cheek into Aziraphale’s open palm, then turning his head to place a kiss in the center. He comes closer still, looming over Aziraphale with hands braced on either side of his hips, then ribs. He slips his hands beneath the warmth of Aziraphale’s arms and leans down to steal a kiss for his own.

“I’m here,” he says, smiling against Aziraphale’s mouth and breathing in deeply. 

The sheets still smell of them both, are still the soft dark of a night sky turning to dawn that Crowley had made them when Aziraphale slipped into his bed the night before, not wanting to be alone. ("Black doesn't suit you at all," he'd said softly, by way of explanation.)

"Please tell me this is alright," Crowley pleads, hiding his face in Aziraphale's neck. _Please let me have this_ , he doesn't beg.

Aziraphale strokes his hair, grips it just enough to lift Crowley's face so their eyes can meet.

"Please look at me, my dear," he entreats, and the intensity of Crowley's gaze punches a lovestruck sigh from him. "This is so much more than alright."

Crowley throws one leg over Aziraphale's hips, then the other, and sits back, settling himself over the tops of Aziraphale's thighs. His hands reach for Aziraphale's waistcoat, his fingers plucking ineffectually at a button. 

_Is this alright?_ he doesn't speak aloud, but Aziraphale reads it clearly on his face.

Afraid to spoil this charged moment with words, Aziraphale catches Crowley's hands in his own and clumsily guides his fingers through the motions, giving his demon the permission he seeks.

Crowley moves to the next button all on his own, and the next, until Aziraphale's waistcoat lies open and the shirt beneath is exposed. More buttons. He shudders at the weight of Aziraphale's palms on his thighs; how they slide up the skintight material of his trousers, how his thumbs follow the seam along his inner thighs.

"You don't have to go so slow," Aziraphale says thickly, full of all the love and longing he'd tried to keep under wraps for all these years.

"I want to," Crowley says reverently, starting on the new row of buttons. "Angel, I never thought I'd get to have this, let me _sssavor_ it, please?"

Aziraphale arches up into Crowley's hands at this confession, his expression twisting into sorrow. "Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry. You must know I- I didn't want to make you wait! I was so-"

Crowley silences him with another kiss, undoing the last of the buttons with his hands trapped between their bodies. “ _I forgive you,_ angel,” he murmurs, running his hands up Aziraphale’s soft sides so that his layers fall open, revealing the curves of him, and the dusting of pale blonde hair running from his chest to the waistband of his trousers.

Aziraphale squirms beneath him; moaning softly when Crowley’s thumbs brush over his nipples, jerking when his shirt and waistcoat and overcoat vanish. His hands are on Crowley’s hips now, flexing like he can’t decide what he wants to do with them.

Crowley sits up and takes them in his own, sliding them up his hips until they’re tucked under his shirt, warm and welcome against his bare skin.

“My turn,” he prompts, when Aziraphale seems content to lie there and stroke the jut of Crowley’s bare hipbones, the dip of his spine.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Aziraphale gasps breathlessly, feeling his face grow even warmer. He mimics Crowley without shame, running his hands up Crowley’s sides. The play of muscles over sharp bones as Crowley writhes encouragingly at his touch fascinates him, and for a moment he forgets his original intent. Aziraphale pulls him back down for an kiss with his hands wrapped around the depth of Crowley’s chest - so _thin!_ It excites Aziraphale, because it is Crowley. And it saddens him, because it seems like just another way Crowley had denied himself all these years.

Crowley lowers himself to rest against Aziraphale; the bared skin of their stomachs touching, the wad of his bunched up shirt pressing into his ribs, and Aziraphale’s too, the fabric of his shirt catching in Aziraphale’s chest hair. He reaches up to grip the pillows on either side of Aziraphale’s head; a hint and an attempt to hold himself back from grinding against the hardening cock he can feel pressed low against his belly.

Aziraphale takes the hint and returns to trying to pull all Crowley’s upper layers off in one fell swoop, breathing very evenly through his nose as Crowley wriggles against him during that brief struggle. 

Suddenly holding two fistfuls of Crowley’s clothes in his hands, Aziraphale blinks, wondering what to _do_ with them now he has them. 

As always, Crowley has an answer for that. “Just chuck them off the side of the bed, angel,” he says carelessly, pressing their half-naked bodies together and sliding up Aziraphale’s to nibble at his ear.

He must hear, or feel, Aziraphale’s indignant inhale, because he tucks his head to laugh quietly into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Yours are hung up nice and neat in my closet, don’t worry. Just chuck them, the mess will remind me of you, later.”

Crowley’s neverending thoughtfulness pierces Aziraphale more surely than an arrow; and the thought that Crowley thinks he might have nothing more to remember this by than some clothes strewn across the floor cuts him to the core.

Still, he does as Crowley had asked, and _chucks_ the undeserving garments off the bed. And then he threads his fingers into Crowley’s hair to pull him in for a desperate kiss. He tries to pour all his love and devotion into it, and the promise that this won’t be the last time they touch like this.

Crowley shivers into the kiss, overwhelmed, and tries to hide it by disappearing what remains of his and Aziraphale’s clothes. “Still not too fast?” he asks, sitting up and choking on unshed tears (of joy).

Aziraphale cups Crowley’s cheek, miraculously still dry, and gazes adoringly up at him. “Please, my love, go as fast as you like.” 

Crowley flinches at the new endearment, almost as if struck, and Aziraphale pulls his hand away, alarmed. Crowley catches it and places it firmly back on his cheek. “Say it again,” he demands, but his face is soft and needing.

“Please, my love,” Aziraphale repeats. He doesn’t get to complete the repetition, cut off by a gasp as Crowley wraps a hand around his cock. His touch is almost cool, but it burns through Aziraphale like hellfire itself.

Stroking him gently, Crowley watches his face intently. “I want you inside me. Is that alright?”

“Yes, Crowley, _please_ !” Aziraphale reaches for Crowley’s hips, now, but he hesitates to do anything but hold them in a grip that alternates between delicate and _bruising_. Crowley rolls his hips into Aziraphale’s, shifting just so to drag the lips of his vulva over the base of his cock.

The gasp it wrings from his angel is worth dying for. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know, angel. You spent an entire morning in this body, after all.” He lets go of Aziraphale’s dick to brace himself with both hands on Aziraphale’s chest; soft on the surface, but with true strength hidden just below. “Bit hard to comfortably arrange one of _these,_ ” he pauses to grind against Aziraphale’s cock again, the time from root to tip and back again, “in trousers as snug as mine.”

“Th-that’s a very good point, my- my dear,” Aziraphale stammers, but now his hands have begun to move, directing Crowley to repeat that roll of his hips again, and again. Until Aziraphale himself is as wet as Crowley’s sweetly dripping cunt.

Crowley wraps a hand around him once more, lifting his cock from where it curves against his belly and holding it steady as he rises up on his knees. “Is this alright?” he asks one more time, breathless and nearly glowing.

Aziraphale nods, and pulls Crowley slowly down onto his cock, just in case Crowley still has any doubts. The hand wrapped around Aziraphale's dick flattens as Crowley sinks down onto him, slides through their combined slick to splay over the softness of a hip, and the hand still braced on Aziraphale’s chest curls into a fist, tugging sharply at the downy curls caught in his grip. 

His gasp is drowned out by Crowley’s low moan as he’s fully seated on Aziraphale’s cock, clenching and trembling around him. He squeezes his eyes closed and doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, for a long moment; trying to master himself.

“Oh, _angel,_ ” Crowley breathes above him, shifting his hips experimentally, and Aziraphale can no longer resist looking. He _needs_ to see the expression on Crowley’s face right this very moment.

In the low light of the room, Crowley’s molten gold eyes nearly glow, as snakelike as they can be, vertical pupils blown wide. He blinks and looks away from the sudden scrutiny, but Aziraphale rolls his hips up into Crowley’s, pleading, “Please don’t look away, I want to see you.”

At his words, the light seems to grow a little brighter, but it could just be the sheen of tears in Crowley’s bright golden eyes as he returns his gaze to Aziraphale’s face. “I never dreamed it could be like this,” he confesses.

Aziraphale thrusts up into him, and Crowley lets out a startled moan. The next time, he’s ready for it and lifts his hips until Aziraphale is barely still inside him. They come together with an obscene slap, and Crowley jolts, throwing his head back in ecstasy, filled to overflowing with everything he ever wanted from Aziraphale and more.

Looking up at Crowley’s face, alight with both pleasure and love, Aziraphale sees that Crolwey’s dark ceiling is aglow with painted-on constellations. He hadn’t seen them at all the night before, and he’s almost certain they had not been glowing then. He wonders at the change; why is it happening, and how? And what does it mean?

His questions are interrupted by a pleading whimper, and Crowley fucking himself down onto Aziraphale’s cock with shallow, insistent thrusts.

“Please don’t stop now,” Crowley begs, and Aziraphale resumes his thrusts, looking down to where he disappears inside Crowley with each snap of his hips.

Crowley whimpers again as Aziraphale reaches between them, thick fingers brushing against his clit, sliding along his slick folds. Crowley grinds down against them helplessly. With his fingers thoroughly wet, Aziraphale slides them back up the length of Crowley’s inner folds until he feels the hard bud of Crowley's clitoris against his fingertips and hears him hiss at the touch.

Aziraphale shifts slightly, arranging himself a little more comfortably, and Crowley cries out at the pressure on his clit and the shift that allows Aziraphale to sink deeper into him. He’s on the edge already, a breath from overflowing, from spilling over.

Glancing up at the sharp cry, Aziraphale is stricken by the view. Crowley, resplendent in his pleasure; the flames of his hair ringed by a halo as golden as Aziraphale’s, formed by a constellation of stars that Crowley had created himself and that glow with his joy.

When Crowley tries to rise to meet another thrust, Aziraphale holds him down with both hands on his hips. Sunk deep inside Crowley and staring up him, Aziraphale comes with little rolling hitches of his hips and shallow gasps.


End file.
